


Six Rowdies and a Baby

by murdochinthetardis



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: I Made My Shitpost Into A Fic, Pararibulitis attack, post season two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 18:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17647769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdochinthetardis/pseuds/murdochinthetardis
Summary: While doing the usual routine of smashing things to bits, The Rowdy 3 find something unexpectedly placed in their path by the universe: a baby. Amanda's surprised at how well the boys take care of the newest addition, but also worries about the child. Who are they? Where are their parents? Is this going to be a thing that connects to another thing?





	Six Rowdies and a Baby

Amanda Brotzman thought she couldn’t be surprised anymore. Punk energy vampires on the run from a secret government agency? Sure. A disease that causes painful hallucinations but also visions if handled correctly? Been there, done that. An entire dimension created by a dreaming child with snail witches and scissor swords? Just another Tuesday. Still, _this_ was new.

The Rowdy 3 had been driving all day, ignoring maps and “one way street” signs, the wheel under Martin’s hands turning on a whim, a hunch, or to follow a balloon drifting through the air that some poor kid must have let go of. From anyone else’s perspective, the journey was entirely random.

Martin parked the Oh No Van--if you could call it parking--through a fence of an old car salvage lot. The gate had been chained and padlocked who knows how long ago. Mountains of old, wrecked cars filled the yard, some with broken headlights, others unrecognizable clusters of metal, all of them coated in dust and rust. Perfect for smashing, and possibly to collect some spare parts for the van.

Cross hopped out first, swinging around a crowbar like it was a marching band baton. He pointed it at a pile of stacked cars. “Last one to the top is a rocking egg!” He exclaimed.

Before Amanda could correct him, Vogel had already shot out the van and was racing to beat Cross.

It was pure, beautiful, chaos. Cross and Vogel racing to climb up a teetering car mound. Beast diving into a pile of tires, chasing after the ones that rolled away. Gripps carefully inspecting then removing parts before smashing the car to bits and repeating the process with the next. Martin leaping from car to car like stepping stones, lit cigarette in his mouth, bounding around and observing the ruckus.

Amanda grinned, her body filled with adrenaline and ready to fuck shit up. She darted over to a dumpster, bat in hand, ready to dent the faded green metal. She raised the bat, ready to swing, like a baseball player seconds before a home run, when an overwhelming wave of dread washed over her.

Amanda’s hands went numb with cold. She began shivering so hard her entire body shook. The bat fell from her hands as she dropped to her knees, eyes clouded with tears. The noise of the others disappeared. Amanda was alone. Abandoned. Terrified.

Amanda hadn’t realized she’d passed out until she woke up, her head against Gripps’ chest. He was kneeling beside where she’d collapsed, one arm around her shoulder, the other hand stroking her hair.

The other Rowdies stood close to them, but far enough to give them space. All of them looked concerned, makeshift weapons no longer in hand but dropped immediately before they had rushed over.

“What…” Amanda managed to mumble.

“You had an attack,” Gripps responded in a soft voice. “I took care of it, don’t worry.”

“You okay, Drummer?” Martin asked.

Amanda touched her cheek. The fresh trail of mascara told her she’d been crying. “I- I-” she stammered. “I was alone.”

“Just an attack,” Cross told her. “We were always here. Promise.”

“PROMSE!” Beast echoed.

Gripps moved his arms away as Amanda got to her feet. She eyed the dumpster suspiciously. “There’s something in there,” she told the group.

Sure enough, an odd noise from inside the dumpster told the group she was right. An echoing, muffled, cry. Even before hearing it, Amanda just… knew.

Vogel picked up the bat that Amanda dropped and pointed it at the dumpster. They had learned to take precautions when opening them, ever since the Great Racoon Wrestling Match.

Martin nodded at the others. He dropped his cigarette and put it out with his boot before slowly opening the lid. It creaked open and-

Nothing jumped out. The noise was clear now: crying.

“Shit…” Martin muttered.

Beast tilted her head. “Wazzit?”

Martin opened the second lid and hoisted himself inside, landing as softly as his combat boots would let him. “Cross, c’mere,” he directed.

Cross nodded and walked over. The others, all confused, watched as Martin lifted something out of the dumpster and into Cross’ arms.

Now this was something new to Amanda.

“Is… is that a baby?” Amanda asked.

Cross looked at the crying infant in his arms. “It’s either a baby or a really tiny man,” he replied without a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Beast hopped around Cross, looking up at the baby, curiosity in her rainbow eyes. “Wee beebee.” Amanda wondered if she’d ever even seen a baby before.

While Amanda gawked at the child, the others realized she wasn’t going to be giving any orders, so Martin stepped in.

“Gripps, take those spare parts back to the van,” Martin instructed, climbing out of the dumpster. “Cross, you keep that lil ‘un warm. Drummer, you just take a breather in the van. We gotta go on a supply run.”

Everyone gathered up the weapons they’d dropped and climbed back into the van. Cross held the baby close against his chest, wrapped in his jacket, gently rocking and singing to them. The infant had stopped crying and looked like they were about to pass out. As Martin drove the van away, the steady hum of the engine lulled the baby to sleep.

Martin had probably never driven so carefully. Hands at ten and two, eyes focused on the road, going the speed limit.

Not bothering to clean up her makeup (Vogel assured her that crying was totally punk), Amanda eyed the baby. “What are we gonna do?” She asked.

“Pick up what we need,” Martin replied, not turning back to face her like he usually did. “Blankets-”

“Diapers,” Cross added. “Wipes-”

“Formula and baby food,” Gripps said.

“And a jacket!” Vogel replied. Amanda smiled, picturing a tiny leather jacket on a tiny punk baby.

“How old is he?” Amanda asked.

Gripps frowned, looking at the bundle in Cross’ arms. “Five months, two weeks, four days. If I had to guess.”

“Do we like… put up posters?” Vogel asked.

“I think that’s just for lost dogs,” Amanda replied. “Might be best to tell the police.”

Martin clenched his jaw at the mention of cops. “I dunno, Drummer. They may think we kidnapped ‘em. An’ if they decide to put our description out there, You Know Who may find us. Then what’ll we do?”

He had a point. As bad a place as The Van was for a baby, Blackwing would be worse. “Last resort, okay? Someone might be looking for him.”

“Him?” Cross asked.

“The baby’s a he. I know it,” Amanda shrugged. “My attack made me find him. We’re… we were supposed to find him.”

“Leef,” Beast nodded. “Leef ina streem.”

“He’s a little leaf in the stream of creation…” Amanda nodded.

“That’s what we’ll call him then. Leaf.” Martin suggested. Leaf cooed in his sleep, as if approving this name.


End file.
